Revealed: A Prince and A Pregnancy by Kelly Hunter Read Free Book Online

she needed a strategy for dealing with Rafael that would keep her heart safe. So far, she’d come up empty.
    ‘He is very good with damsels in distress,’ said Gabrielle again. ‘It’s that overprotective streak that was honed to perfection during the childhood he tries hard to forget. You couldn’t just—’
    ‘No,’ said Simone abruptly. To call on Rafael’s vulnerability—the very protectiveness that had once made her love him so deeply—and play it for a weakness?
    ‘No, Gabrielle. I could not.’
    By ten to four the tree was down, the fence was fixed and Rafe was heartily wishing that he’d brought the chainsaw along with him to finish the job. The axe was blunt, his shoulders ached, and the release that he’d sought in hard physical labour had so far eluded him. He was hot, he was bothered, and why the hell he’d let Gabrielle goad him into spending time alone with Simone was a mystery to him.
    He wanted a cold shower and an even colder beer, and he wanted to forget he’d ever suggested showing Simone around the vineyard he’d brought back from ruin.
    He wanted a woman, wanton and willing. One he could lose himself in for a time and walk away from unscathed.
    Not Simone, sensual and fearless, who would call forth desires too deeply held.
    Not Simone.
    Cursing beneath his breath, he loaded up the ute and headed for the cellars. With any luck she’d be running late and he’d have time to wash down and cool off before she arrived. With a bit more luck she might have changed her mind about touring the vineyard with him altogether.
    A silver-grey Audi sat in the car park beside the cellar door.
    A dark-haired ingénue wearing a vivid pink strapless sundress leaned against it and watched his approach.
    Guess not.
    ‘A tree?’ she said once he stood before her.
    ‘And a fence.’ He’d warned her that he would be filthy. He looked down at his T-shirt where tree sap and splinters vied for supremacy. Possibly not this filthy, but there was a tap and a sink inside and he had a spare T-shirt in the ute. He found the shirt and headed for the door. ‘Come on through.’
    Simone followed him into the building, a gable-roofed corrugated-iron shed of muted greens and greys. It didn’t have the ancient appeal of the champagne storage caves of Caverness, but it suited the landscape well enough, and the scarred and mismatched wooden furnishings of the tasting room held a certain rustic charm.
    ‘Let me get rid of some of this dirt before I take you through to the vats,’ he said as he headed for the washbasin behind the bar.
    ‘Of course.’ So far, Rafael more than lived up to hispromise of general dishevelment. He had the body for it though, long and leanly muscled, and a perfection of face guaranteed to cut through any amount of dirt. As far as Simone was concerned, the intensity of his brilliant blue gaze served only to clinch the deal. Dirt or no dirt, Rafael Alexander was a breathtakingly beautiful man.
    He knew it. How could he not?
    But his looks did not define him. There was more to him than that. A kindness of soul that warred with the fierceness of his emotions. A protective streak, honed razor-sharp by the circumstances of his childhood. A will to succeed that bordered on obsessive, and when he focused his attentions on something or someone…well, a woman didn’t easily forget such a time.
    She’d never managed to.
    Simone took a seat on the customer side of the bar, fully intending to study the wine-tasting list. She might have even managed to pay attention to the vintages on offer if Rafael hadn’t chosen that particular moment to peel his T-shirt from his body.
    She tried to draw breath, tried to look away, but the latter was impossible and the former took determined effort. She found her breath, and then her voice. ‘Your back—’
    He had his back towards her. He stilled, but he didn’t turn around.
    ‘Something against tattoos?’ he asked quietly.
    ‘No.’ Dear heaven, no. ‘It’s